


Magic Fixes What Apologies Won't

by Whispering_Sumire



Series: Time Traveling TW Fics [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Background Relationships, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Guilt, Heartfelt Conversations, M/M, Mistakes, One Shot, POV Multiple, POV Outsider, Redemption, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, and it's temporary, peace in our time, well- except for the bad guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 17:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14337276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whispering_Sumire/pseuds/Whispering_Sumire
Summary: "Uh huh, and you're an ass. Look, just- don't go killing anyone, okay?"That is an odd thing for a child to be- and,seriously, from what she can tell- asking an adult. Even odder asking it of Peter who, despite his interest in the macabre, is a fairly gentle soul by all accounts, at least, that she knows of, because he actually seems to bethinkingabout it."I make no promises," he finally says, softly, honestly, and Stiles just gives him a long hard look before sighing and nodding in understanding."Well, I guess it isn't fair to ask that of you, really, under the circumstances, so, how about... Don't kill anyone who doesn't deserve it- bymystandards, not your own, you fucking psycho.""Hey, I'm not that bad," Peter sniffs, and Stiles narrows his eyes, "anymore."[Or: The one where Future Stiles and Future Peter astound everybody.]





	Magic Fixes What Apologies Won't

**Author's Note:**

> I have been dealing with very, very bad no-good writers block, and a fever, this whole week- so I have _no_ idea if this is _any_ good. But I worked hard on it, so I wanted to put it out there.
> 
> I love you! I hope you enjoy! :)

The nexus of time is a brandished, beautiful thing. The sheer vastness and complicatedness of it is astounding, and the science of it (quantum entanglement, black holes, wormholes, dying stars), the magic of it (alternate dimensions and realms and realities, spells and sparks and Fae)- it's overwhelming.

But it was a necessity.

The mistakes made by Stiles and Peter both have, in a twisted, awful way, brought them closer together, after all's been said and done. Their motivations are damaged and selfish and self-serving, and Stiles is pretty sure that Peter manipulated him into making this decision, but, in truth, he's also pretty sure that he let it happen.

In his friends, in himself, there has been too much trauma.

And he is at fault for the deaths of over a dozen people, some so innocent it broke his heart (Allison), some he killed just to survive, because he had no other choice. A few because he knew it would keep the Pack safe, even if he also knew that they didn't _have_ to die.

Peter himself is happily a serial killer, but he'd been insane when he'd killed Laura, and he can cover it with as much smarmy sarcasm as he pleases- Stiles knows what it's like to kill someone when you're not in your right mind, he knows the effect it has, and he knows Peter still suffers. There are other things he's done, mistakes he's made, that Stiles knows he will never admit to feeling guilty for.

But, then, there is a reason he wants to do this as much as Stiles does.

To rectify every mistake made, since his mother, since _Paige_. The very start of this, the domino that fell for both of them, the meeting between the Argents and those three Packs on Hale territory- the deaths of Claudia Stilinski and Paige Krasikeva.

And Stiles figured out how to do it.

* * *

Talia smiles at her little brother when he meanders down the stairs, blinking at her slowly- smelling of things she doesn't recognize at all- for long enough that she begins to feel worry churn low in her gut.

"Peter? What is it?" It's early, she's still setting the table, Arlow and Phillip in the kitchen, Laura watching the twins and Mikey with Illia in the living room, Derek out for his morning run (which she suspects is just an excuse to see that _girl_ that he's yet to bring home). Laura's laughter as the twins tackle her and pull her into a tickle-fight is loud and gleeful, raucous, delightful chaos.

Peter sucks in a deep breath, his face- and she's never actually seen it _do_ that before, warm blue eyes going colder than any winter, empty, devoid of all emotion. The smile he offers looks _wrong_.

"Just asked a friend for a favor," he says curtly. "He came through, of course, I never doubted he wouldn't. But he didn't keep me informed."

He sounds indifferent and implacable and... mature? Older. Kind of terrifying, in too many ways. He just, he doesn't seem himself. She's about to say something when a loud and urgent knock resounds on the door.

"That'll be him, now, I suspect," he says icily, dark smile still firmly on his lips as he strides to the door and opens it for- a boy, a little boy, no older than ten with wide, clear, caramel colored eyes and freckled pale skin. Peter's smile vanishes, replaced with a black glare that makes even _her_ shiver and she wants to chastise him for leveling it at a _child_ who's done-

The boy grins in the face of it, dauntless, smug, even.

"I did it!"

"Yes, you should be very proud, Stiles," Peter drawls sardonically, "now, if only your communication skills were as astute."

"Oh, shut up, Peter. A thanks would be nice?" Stiles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Peter raises an eyebrow, Stiles raises one right back, demanding, and the corners of Peter's mouth twitch like he's fighting a smile.

"Thank you, Stiles. You've done well."

"See? There, that wasn't so hard, was it? Now, I've got to go research how the fuck-" "Language," Talia finds herself saying, the instincts of a mother with a young child, the boy rolls his eyes dramatically, but ignores her- "to neutralize vaporized wolfsbane-"

"You hadn't done that _before_ hand?" Peter asks derisively, and Stiles kicks him in the knee, _hard_ , Talia hears a crack and smells the pain but Peter doesn't even flinch. "Well, that was rude."

"Uh huh, and you're an ass. Look, just- don't go killing anyone, okay?"

That is an odd thing for a child to be- and, _seriously_ , from what she can tell- asking an adult. Even odder asking it of Peter who, despite his interest in the macabre, is a fairly gentle soul by all accounts, at least, that she knows of, because he actually seems to be _thinking_ about it.

"I make no promises," he finally says, softly, honestly, and Stiles just gives him a long hard look before sighing and nodding in understanding.

"Well, I guess it isn't fair to ask that of you, really, under the circumstances, so, how about... Don't kill anyone who doesn't deserve it- by _my_ standards, not your own, you fucking psycho."

"Hey, I'm not that bad," Peter sniffs, and Stiles narrows his eyes, " _anymore_."

" _Peter_."

"Alright, fine, fine. I'll go along with your _morals_."

"Uh huh," Stiles says suspiciously before shaking his head and going to leave.

"Stiles," Peter calls after him, causing him to turn back, "sleeping and eating aren't optional for human bodies, especially young ones."

The boy stays standing there, looking up into Peter's eyes, and for a moment there's something between them, so strong and haunted- concern for each other and the unwillingness to ever truly show it lest the vulnerability lead to their harm- that it's almost tangible.

"I can't make any promises either," Stiles eventually says quietly, and Peter smiles tightly.

"I know."

Then he's gone and Peter's closing the door behind him with a put-upon sigh, before turning to face her, plastering on an obviously fake cheery smile, and pretending it never happened.

"So, Stiles? How do you know a child that young, Peter? He looks to be about the same age as the twins."

"He's a friend."

"A friend who- and what was he wearing? Steel-toed boots? It sounded like he fractured the bone."

"It's how he shows affection, a really dangerous one, that boy."

"What _I'm_ more interested in," Illia chimes, walking in with Mikey on her hip, "is what all that talk was about? You're one of the least violent members of our Pack, with the exception of the kids."

Peter blinks, then, inexplicably says, "That is fascinating. I'd completely forgotten."

"Forgotten what?" Illia asks, confused, and he shrugs, turning to go back upstairs.

"Nevermind, kitten. I've got some things to put in order, I'm afraid I'll be skipping breakfast."

Illia snorts, "Seriously, he's got his nose in his books 24/7- with that and college, when would he ever find the _time_ to be killing anyone?"

"I don't know," Talia says worriedly. "But they both seemed very... And didn't that child seem a little off to you? Plus what he'd said about _wolfsbane_?"

Illia shrugs, setting Mikey down when he fusses, letting him explore some under her watchful eye, "Peter's got plenty of supernatural contacts, and he says that Stiles kid did him a favor- I just assumed he wasn't human. Peter'll tell us eventually, he never stays quiet on these things for long."

Talia wanted to believe her, but something's off. She just isn't sure _what_.

* * *

Peter would gladly slaughter his college professor if he could, the man was so disgustingly sweet, flirting with all the girls, ranting about ethics and- he just left, it wasn't worth the headache, and killing the man would've upset Stiles.

Home... was awkward, to say the least. He'd missed all of his family, of course, but it's been _years_ , and he doesn't remember who he was when they were still alive, truly. He can't even fake it.

Stiles makes things more bearable, which is new in its own way.

The boy had gone from being a tentative ally while they were under Derek's Pack, to a proper one when, righteous and childish and _addicted_ to his own morality, to the Argent girl, Scott had tried to trap him in Eichen and Stiles, not even second-guessing his own decision on the matter, saved him as if it were nothing. Their _friendship_ had grown slowly, born from familiarity and the wars being waged all around them.

It began with the Nogitsune, Allison's death, Stiles' PTSD, Scott's unwillingness to forgive his friend's possession, amorality, willingness to do what needed to be done, and relative distance. That Stiles was pushed out of the McCall Pack and deemed unworthy should've enraged the boy, but he just took it, along with a plethora of other abuses and violations. So, somehow, they'd ended up friends, bonded together by circumstance.

Then they'd hatched this plan, as it were, to go back in time and rectify every mistake they'd ever made. Peter hadn't really taken into account that, Stiles being the only person here who knows him, the only one smart and strong enough to truly deal with him, he'd become his Anchor.

But, in hindsight, it was rather inevitable, wasn't it?

Stiles comes over almost constantly, befriended Cora and Cat easily, and brought them into the group of ghosts he's determined to surround himself with. Little Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Lydia, Jackson, and Scott. He's pulled them all together and somehow, with the type of social magic only he could ever possess, made them all fast-friends. It's ridiculously adorable and Peter hates it with all of his being.

He'd asked Stiles once, how he could manage being around Scott after all he'd done and the boy had just shaken his head and said: "He hasn't. And he _won't_. We came here to keep history free of our mistakes, and free of theirs. Free of their _deaths_ , too. I have to give _this_ Scott a chance."

Peter hadn't understood, not fully, not when, as far as he's concerned, being abandoned by your Alpha is unforgivable. Then, again, maybe he feels some semblance of that with Laura. Although, to be fair, the circumstances there are entirely different.

Unfortunately, one thing he'd ended up learning the hard way, was that time-travel doesn't change or exonerate the soul. For when a rogue Omega meandered onto their land and he and Talia went to take care of it, his eyes had flashed, Beta-blue. It's been so long since anyone's been surprised by that, that when _she_ was- and he could smell betrayal rolling off of her in waves- he just...

His skin began to crawl, in the face of her crushed optimism, and with blood and dirt still sticky on his hands, cloying in his nose, the body of the Omega eviscerated in much the same way as _Laura_. Kind sweet Laura who'd been terrified and barely out of childhood, and who'd _run_ , left him behind, but still didn't deserve to die like that. Not by his hand.

So he walked away from her, ignored her calling out his name, rushed sweaty and muddled with his heartbeat roaring loud and frantic in his ears to a house full of family, Pack, and _Stiles_.

He needed him, that touchstone, the capacity to breathe and be, for his wolf to just fucking _settle_. He wonders if the boy felt that, or was just drawn by Talia calling out after him, because he's suddenly there. Small, fierce, force of nature, stopping him from running any further, calming him just by being present, letting his wolf fall underneath the surface and his panic to recede.

"What's going on?" he asks urgently, head tilted up to search Peter's face, the rest of the Pack gathering around slowly, worried.

"Your eyes!" Talia pants, finally having caught up, "Your eyes are _blue_ , Peter. What did you do?"

"Alpha Hale," Stiles sighs, reproving and demanding, it's almost funny that, not even knowing his power or proper age, she actually stills at this, stops, though it's apparent how much it confuses her. Then, softly, like he's talking to some sort of frightened animal, or a child instead of being the child himself, "What do you think blue eyes mean?"

"That- that he murdered someone," Derek- of all people, it's _Derek_ , who says this shakily, apparently forgetting that the person he's answering is- or at least _looks_ like- a child.

"No," Stiles tells them, and Peter's heartbeat skyrockets again, because he doesn't want them to _know_ this. It's _private_. _Stiles_ shouldn't know this, but he figured it out, as he always does, a little too quick on the uptake for anything to stay long hidden. Peter would rip his tongue out if it would stop him talking.

He has a feeling it wouldn't.

"Red eyes mean Alpha, Gold eyes mean _innocence_ , Blue eyes mean _guilt_."

The Pack looks confused, horrified, concerned, and like all their tiny little minds are racing to catch up with what Stiles has just laid bare for them. He feels his hackles raise, because he _hates_ this, he doesn't like being examined like some butterfly in a shadowbox, a corpse immortalized in decorative and absent-minded cruelty.

" _Stiles_." He warns.

"What?" The boy asks heatedly, indignant, sensing his fury, his _weakness_ , "You'd rather they think you a murderer? Why? So you can maintain- what? Your image, your _pride_? So you won't be forced to be vulnerable in front of _anyone_ , even your Alpha, for five minutes?"

And this is why, why sometimes he hates him, sometimes he clings to him. Because Stiles always just fucking _knows_. But it isn't _fair_ , the pain, the humiliation, the shame, and he's _shaking_ , his wolf a violent thing underneath his skin.

" _Fuck_ you! What about you, huh? Have you even slept at all this past week? No, because you're too afraid that if you close your eyes you'll let the monsters in, that they'll trap you in your nightmares again, steal your body away again. I see you, you know, counting your fingers. You're just a weak, fragile, _breakable_ little human!"

"Peter!" Talia shouts, horrified, but Stiles isn't deterred, even though he smells of hurt and tears, now.

"Well, at least I'm willing to admit it! I _know_ I'm afraid, I'm _always_ afraid, but at least I'm brave enough to accept that, instead of burying myself in my own bravado and egoism, like you!" Peter snarls at him, and he just glares, "You're being a _coward_ , Peter Hale."

"I am not a coward!" He roars, humanity some far-off distant thing as his wolf surges, protective, aggressive inside of him.

"Then stop acting like one," Stiles says, firm and full of grim determination, melancholy eclipsing the whole of his scent as his heartbeat begins to slow. The anger gone, with no fear at all in the midst of his sudden, terrifying calm.

"Peter," he says softly, almost soothing, taking one large, clawed hand in his, "you know I'm not going to leave this alone until you admit it."

Fuck.

"Ask him why he has blue eyes," he orders Talia, quiet, honey eyes never leaving Peter's, bringing him back down, forcing him to face this.

"What?" Talia breathes, oscillating between awe and horror, having, probably, never witnessed him lose control like that before, let alone yell at someone so young.

" _Ask_ him," Stiles commands again, lower.

"P-Peter," she swallows, "why do you have blue eyes?"

Stiles squeezes his hand, offers a nod of support and acceptance, lips in a thin line, and Peter gives in. If he cannot trust these people, his Pack, he can't trust _anybody_ \- and he can't live like that, not anymore. He's too fucking tired. Too weak.

 _This_ feels like the cowardice.

It also feels like one of the hardest things he's ever done.

"I killed someone I loved," he confesses, glances at Laura, who's _alive_ here and now- but it doesn't change anything- before letting his eyes fall in shame to the floor, "I didn't want or mean to, but the circumstances and condition I was in forced my hand. It's still my fault, I'll make no excuses for that- but the blue eyes didn't come when she died, or when I realized she'd died- they came when I hated myself for having killed her."

The smell of salt-water tears and sadness becomes overwhelming, and he can hear a few of his Pack-mates say his name, but he doesn't look up.

If he sees pity, there, after admitting that, he doesn't know what he'll do.

Then he's got an armful of Stiles, the boy winding himself tightly around his middle, and Peter can't help the broken sigh that escapes him as he slides down to a kneel and hugs him back.

"I know that was hard," Stiles murmurs, "but I'm proud of you. Good job, dude."

"If you ever call me that again," Peter mumbles, and he sounds exhausted even to his own ears, "I will toss you into a woodchipper."

"Uh huh," Stiles says placatingly, unconvinced, "I'm sure. What big teeth you have, the better to eat you with, and all that."

Peter hesitates a moment, he knows that to Stiles, forgiveness is already a foregone conclusion. If he never brought it up again the boy would probably just forget it. But he doesn't want to leave it like that, not when he knows, too, how much Stiles helped him just then, for all that he'll dismiss and never admit it.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, "I shouldn't have-"

"Don't worry about it. You were scared and you lashed out, it happens to the best of us, and you, my friend," he points out, patting Peter's back kindly, "are not exactly the best of us. But you're gettin' better."

And see, there he is. This strong, immaculate, selfless, loyal to a fault boy. Peter snorts, shaking his head as he stands out of the embrace.

"Well," he sniffs haughtily, "I've yet to do anything too deplorable, so I suppose I must be."

" _That's_ the spirit!" Stiles grins, play shoving his arm, "Now let's go get curly fries and a milkshake."

"... _Why?_ "

"Because that's what friends do after a fight, and because I'm hungry, now come on!"

"Disgusting fucking greasy ass stupid shitty diner food with the plastic chairs and the fucking people..." Peter mutters, leading the boy to his car as he hums happily next to him.

* * *

The Pack breaks out into pandemonium as soon as they've left and the shock of it all breaks. It's been obvious for some time that Stiles knew about the supernatural, that's not the problem, what _is_ , is the revelation about wolves eyes, _Peter's_ eyes, and how Peter and Stiles interacted just then- it was like nothing she's ever seen before.

That Peter _went_ through something like that and none of them noticed, that Stiles so _easily_ put him and Talia in their places, that Peter almost lost control of his wolf, the animalistic side of him only subsiding in the face of Stiles' stubbornness. And Stiles didn't act like a child, in any capacity, and Peter didn't seem to be treating him like one.

It was odd, all of it was, and she felt like she was missing at least fifty percent of the puzzle here, but there was one thing she knew- knows, for certain.

" **QUIET!** " She roars at them all, Alpha in her eyes and tone, and they all hang their heads submissively as silence reigns.

"Peter is Pack, and he _obviously_ went through something traumatic, something none of us, as his family, his Pack, even _noticed_. We've failed him, in that regard, but we will not fail him in this one. We all know he is-" she wants to say 'a good man', but considering the past few weeks- "... decent, and, anyway, deserves better than what we have given him.

"He may not want to talk about this, since it took so much for him to even _tell_ us in the first place, so, on this subject, I urge you all to be kind and civil. He's still Pack, he's still family, he's still _ours_ , and we need to show him that we love him, no matter what, and that we'll be here, we'll _all_ be here if he needs us."

There's some tittering, Illia and Phillip the first to truly agree before the rest slowly and steadily follow suit, though they seem a little wary, even her husband- but she, her eldest son, and his wife glare them all into submission.

"Alright, now. You two," she growls at the twins, "homework!"

"Ugh, _mom_..."

* * *

Claudia knew her little Mischief was different, she didn't know what it was, maybe the new friends, how he ate less, how he had nightmares almost every night- though he still wouldn't tell them what had scared him so.

It was subtle in the daylight, or, he was hiding whatever it was very well.

She couldn't really understand, and he acted so much more _mature_ these days. Maybe he was just growing up? Maybe, in that case, it would make it easier to tell him- her diagnosis.

Only, today, when she goes to the hospital, and they run the usual tests... there's been some sort of miracle-remission. Her doctors are baffled, Melissa is ecstatic, and she's just...

But didn't Stiles come home the other day and hold her hand tight as he told her she'd be okay? That he'd make sure of it? And he'd sounded so _certain_. Still, there's no way her ten-year-old son could've known, let alone done anything.

When she gets home and tells John, he's jumping for joy, and when Stiles comes home, with his now-usual group of friends and sees their poorly concealed relief and happiness, he hides a smile behind his hand and hugs them both tight enough to make their bones creak.

It's curious, but she's too delighted by her diagnosis to pay it much mind, simply hugging him back as tight as she can.

That Cora and Cat tell her, a little later, that she smells much better- well, that's curious, too. Perhaps it's the new perfume?

* * *

Talia watches, frowning in distaste as Ennis carves the symbol for revenge into the metal door. He turns to look back at them panting, and a sudden, slow clapping draws all of their attention to, of _all_ people, Peter, who'd somehow managed to walk in unnoticed through the back.

"I'm personally all for it," he says, when his clapping is met with blank stares.

"Me too," Stiles says, peeking out from behind Peter's legs, clear, intelligent eyes piercing. "No offense to visions of peace. I'm just- I'm a little biased."

"You have every right to be," Peter tells him solemnly.

"What are you two _doing_ here?" Talia questions incredulously. Peter shrugs, inspecting his cuticles as if he can't be bothered, and Stiles smiles sheepishly.

"Nice to know I have _someone_ on my side," Ennis grumps.

"You should take the little one home," Kali says, curt, but not unkind. "Pups have no place here."

"Why on earth would a child such as you want revenge to be taken against someone? Do you know what will happen with this? It will bring death and destruction, why do that when we could have peace?" Deucalion asks, genuinely concerned for the state of Stiles' mental well-being. Talia can understand that feeling all too well.

The boy sighs and comes out from behind Peter, "Look. I'm- I'm _mostly_ human, which means colds and a terrible immune system and no fast healing powers, alright? But I run with _wolves_ , and that, according to Gerard Argent and his daughter Kate? That makes me a traitor to my species."

"We only came to deliver the warning," Peter says, finally looking at all of them in turn, his eyes lingering on Deucalion and his Pack longest. "The Argents _do_ follow the Code, and most _do_ want peace. With the exception of two."

"And considering I've been tortured by _both_ of said two-" Stiles, _ten-year-old_ Stiles, says, Peter cutting in to say, "As have I."- "I'd say we both hold an informed perspective. Gerard is a geriatric bad-touch sociopath, and Kate's a pedophilic psycho, so, please, if you want revenge, make sure you're pointing your claws in the right direction. And if you want _peace_ , do the same.

"Also, here," Stiles tugs on Peter's sleeve and Peter sighs before digging out several epi-pens that he then moves to pass around three very stunned Packs.

"What are these?" Ennis growls.

"Gerard likes to use aerated wolfsbane, that's the cure. If you've been in contact with the toxic gas, inject yourself and you'll be fine," Stiles tells them all seriously, and then looks directly into Ennis' eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss. May he forever run under the Full Moon on the other side of the Veil."

Ennis blinks, the formality, and the, well, everything else, a shocking dissonance to the small cherubic child. "Thanks, kid."

"Sure," he beams, beatific. Peter rolls his eyes, flicks him on the nose, and Stiles flinches, covering his nose with his hand. "Ow! _Dude_."

Peter tuts, and picks up Stiles in a fireman's carry, ignoring his flailing and indignant squawking. "I told you I'd throw you into a woodchipper next time."

Stiles kicks and punches and writhes, Peter slinking out as easy as anything, smirking triumphantly before digging his fingers into Stiles' side and tickling him.

"You- you bastard!" They hear Stiles shout, breathless and giggling, Peter beginning to laugh himself, "You _wouldn't_!"

"Oh, I would, I think," Peter cackles, and some of the various Betas snort despite themselves.

"You never told me your Betas were tortured by an Argent, Talia?" Deucalion says, when they can no longer hear the two boys, and Talia blinks, swallows.

"Peter isn't just my Beta. He's my little brother. There are some things he just doesn't tell me."

"And what of the child? One so young, tortured, and still trying to protect us? That's an admirable Pack-mate you've got there," he smiles, looking down at the epi-pen in his hand, and Talia, who doesn't even _have_ a Pack-bond with the Stilinski boy, can only nod in dumbfounded agreement.

* * *

Deucalion still tries to make peace, but he is more wary, with the warnings he's gotten from Peter, Stiles, and Deaton, all. So, when Gerard spins the wheel that has the gas flowing into the distillery, He and his Pack all use the epi-pens (which work perfectly), and keep him from killing them and _his own people_ , who'd wanted just as much peace as they.

That he was killed in the ensuing battle couldn't be avoided, not that anyone cared much, after seeing just how truly mad he was.

A treaty _is_ made, with the current Matriarch, Gerard's sister, Rohese. She's stern, but nurturing, and though she's made of steel, she follows the Code, and is not completely unkind toward the wolves. She leaves Beacon Hills her nephew, Chris, and his family, that Beacon Hills may be protected under the unified peace of the Argents and Hales, leaves the towns Kali, Ennis, and Deucalion live in other extended family- all of them planning to work together, a revolution of the system that leaves these hunters Pack-adjacent.

Ennis, too, gets a new Pack-mate in the form of Charlotte Argent. She survives the Bite, and further bridges the gaps between hunters and 'weres.

Considering this, and that the Argents are now much better managed, and so much more in sync, with stable Packs providing all the help they are able, when Kate tries to make her move (with no real opening for information, since Paige is still alive, and everyone is happily aware of the fact that _she_ is an Argent to be avoided), she's easily disabled and arrested by Stiles' father- after she's linked to several arson cases she's given forty to life.

Talia ends up offering Stiles, very shortly after that, a place in her Pack, which he accepts humbly, pleased. Eventually, after John becomes sheriff, they bring both him and Claudia in on everything, offering them a place in the Pack as well- which, after the initial culture-shock, they accept with good grace and a smile.

Upon finding out that Stiles has magic, exceptionally _powerful_ magic ("It's not like I was _hiding_ it or anything," he'd said sheepishly, "it just never came up."), Deaton had offered to teach him, making him the Druid's apprentice and Emissary inherent- for whenever the vet retired.

Isaac comes clean around two years later, upon much prompting and goading by Stiles and Scott, about his father, and ends up being adopted by the Stilinskis, which essentially gives him two brothers, two mothers, and a father. (Talia has a sneaking suspicion that Stiles has something to do with no one in this very _small_ town questioning the blossoming polyamorous relationship developing in the Stilinski household).

When she's sixteen, Erica takes the Bite, curing her, and gets trained by all the Hales, who happily accept her into the Pack, along with the rest of Stiles' human friends, who've all, unsurprisingly, found out about them at this point.

Peter and Stiles never talk about what happened to them, although it's assumed it happened to them both, with how they act. Peter is now the one with least control over his wolf, always needing his Anchor (which they'd all found out easily enough was Stiles) when he begins to lose it; his anger issues, and random off-handed comments about killing and maiming are a little disturbing, but they've gotten used to it, and trust Stiles to put him in line when he gets to be too much.

Stiles has these really intense nightmares, absently counts his fingers to make sure he's still awake, has trouble, sometimes, making himself eat. The both of them have days where they talk to no one but each other, and hide away in the basement library, morose and solemn.

Two days after Stiles turns eighteen, he's sitting on the couch in the living room with a giant book in his lap, the rest of the Pack all around, watching the television or at the table in the dining room doing various forms of work. Peter's sitting next to him, typing away on his computer, and Stiles slowly looks up, off into the middle distance, and then makes a little extremely happy sort of squeal.

Peter raises his eyebrows at the boy as Stiles pumps both his fists in the air and wriggles.

"What?" Paige asks around a giggle, from her place in Derek's lap, engagement ring glittering on her finger.

"We made it! Like, officially. Peter," he breathes, turning to him, smiling in a breathless, struck sort of way. "Everyone's _alive_. We did it. We _did_ it- all our mistakes-" he makes an explosion gesture with his hands and a whooshing sound to go with it.

"Redeemed," Peter says softly, staring at the boy's hands, sounding a little dazed.

"Dude," Stiles grins, "we did it."

Peter drags wide eyes up from Stiles' hands to his sparkling, whiskey eyes, and smiles.

"Yes," he says, wrapping a hand around the back of Stiles' neck, pulling him forward, his book toppling out of his lap as Peter kisses him, a small, chaste press of lips that turns filthy the moment Stiles moans and opens for it. "We did," he murmurs against Stiles' lips, and Stiles blushes bright red as the Pack all starts wolf-whistling and clapping and cat-calling.

With a mischievous grin, Stiles grabs Peter's laptop and launches off of the couch, taunting, "Catch me if you can, asshole!"

Peter laughs, growls playfully, and gives chase.

They have Pack, family, and lives to fulfill with new, better sorts of mistakes. And, right now, they have each other.

Peter's pretty goddamned sure they'll have each other for a very long time to come, because this decision, he knows, isn't one he'll _ever_ regret.


End file.
